My Rock

by Pat Simmons

  Tabitha breathed a sigh of relief when an emergency vehicle arrived in front of her house. She forced herself out the chair and met one of the firefighters who was halfway to her on the back patio.

  “I left something burning on the stove that triggered my smoke alarm. I was down the street at the time.” She bowed her head sheepishly embarrassed that she didn’t follow safety protocol she had learned in school to turn off all appliances before leaving the house.

  “I opened all the windows in the kitchen to air out the house.” Marcus’ deep voice preceded his appearance at her side. Turning to face him, he looked just as powerful as the firefighters with his bulging muscles stretching his polo shirt with his company’s logo. At the moment, she was grateful for his take-charge attitude.

  “If you don’t mind, we’d rather inspect the kitchen for ourselves to assess any damages and possible hot spots,” the firefighter said and waved for another man from his crew to follow.

  “Sure.” Her shoulders slumped as Marcus’ strong hands gently squeezed them and guided her to the patio loveseat. He left her side and followed the firefighter inside as if he was the property owner.

  After flopping down, she covered her face with her hands and bawled. She wasn’t a crier by nature, but lately that seemed to be the only way to release her frustration. Next, she chided herself for being so careless not to turn off the stove. An organized and dutiful person, she was losing her edge. God, help me, she whispered to herself.

  Tabitha uncovered her face and took a deep breath. She was in a daze when the firefighter confirmed that the damage was limited to the smoke and suggested she purchase some new pots. His humor was missed as she went through the motions of nodding her thanks. She should and needed to get up and see for herself what shape her stove was in, but she couldn’t command her body to move, so she closed her eyes to gain strength. When she inhaled, she sniffed cologne mixed with smoke before the seat shifted beside her. Marcus.

  “You okay?” His voice was low and soothing.

  Without looking at him, Tabitha wanted to scream, no, but her lips wouldn’t move.

  “I’m hungry,” Aunt Tweet said. “Give me a match, and I’ll cook us some supper.”

  Tabitha’s energy returned in a flash. In unison, she and Marcus responded with a resounding, “No!” Their one accord stirred something in her chest—near her heart—and kept climbing up her throat and forced her mouth open. A chuckle slipped out, and he winked. The gesture was so sexy that it made her shiver as if his lips had touched her hand again. The charged moment fizzled when he stood and stepped away.

  WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN himself into? Marcus wondered as he noticed Tabitha tremble. He wanted to wrap her in the cocoon of his arms until she gained her strength.

  After pining after her, which Demetrius had correctly assessed, Marcus’ heart skipped a beat when he saw her outside. The casual romper showcased her flawless bare legs and cute toes. He was about to flirt with her until the panic on her face stopped him.

  He had walked into a trap that was not of their doing. Unintentionally, the two lovely ladies had reeled him in. One thing was for sure: He couldn’t leave them now. Tabitha was caving in to an emotional breakdown—he couldn’t let her lose the fight within her—while Aunt Tweet seemed as content as a three-year-old with her first toy. Despite her declaration of hunger, she hadn’t moved, and the puppy rested on her chest as she reclined on the patio lounger.

  It was painful to watch Tabitha’s tears leak between her slender fingers, despite her hands shielding her face. Damsels in distress pulled at his heartstrings. Especially this one. He wanted something from her—her attraction to him. Sue me, he could hear himself saying to Demetrius who would call him a sucker.

  Suddenly, he felt like a fool for being so harsh with her. She was struggling to be a caregiver, but who was taking care of her? He glanced back at his new charges, then tugged his cell off his clip on his belt. Tabitha might not know it, but she needed to be rescued, and Marcus appointed himself as he punched in a familiar number.

  “Yeah, boss,” Chess answered.

  “I’ve got a situation. I need you to place an order for some entrées, hot and cold—salads, fruits and whatever Stan can throw in at the last minute. I need the delivery to my house ASAP.” Whenever his company sponsored functions—small or large—Stan Wilson, owner of Sandwiches and Stuff, always came through.

  His employee chuckled. “Who are you feeding this time?”

  Tabitha and her aunt weren’t his charity case. This was personal. His employee didn’t know Marcus was putting his heart on the line. “I want the delivery faster than Jimmy John’s.”

  “It will be there in twenty minutes, even if I have to deliver it myself. Oh, and I need to talk to you about something...”

  “Not now.” Marcus held up his hand as if his employee was standing before him. “One fire at a time.” Bad choice of words. “We’ll talk tomorrow when I’m in the office.” Whatever was going on at the company, Demetrius could handle it. Ending the call, he walked back to the patio and joined Tabitha on the loveseat.

  “Hey,” he said softly, coaxing her to face him. Her bright eyes were dimmed by the turn of events. She looked dazed. “I ordered some food, so you can relax.”

  “How?” Tabitha’s lips trembled. “I can’t. I have research to do for work, and I have Aunt Tweet.”

  “I’m here.” Marcus didn’t know what kind of commitment he was making, but he planned to fulfill it. He wrapped his hands around her soft ones. Surprisingly, she didn’t pull away. After a few seconds, her shoulders relaxed, and he exhaled. “I’ll entertain her.”

  “But don’t you have something to do?” Tabitha asked politely, but her expression was hopeful that he didn’t.

  He smiled and winked. “Nothing, but enjoy the company of two beautiful ladies.”

  Chapter 13

  M

  arcus’ touch brought Tabitha’s senses slowly back to life. And with unusual clarity, she scrutinized his features. Handsome, strong, and dare she say sexy? Did she hear right? He’d ordered dinner? Add kindness to his résumé. The fight in her that she didn’t need his help was gone. It was replaced with adoration for his thoughtfulness, so she thanked him instead.

  “You’re welcome.” Then he did it again, he kissed her hand.

  The man might as well have kissed her lips the way he made her feel lightheaded with one small touch.

  When he smiled, she focused on the curve of his lips. If Tabitha were a young teenager, he would have been her crush, and she would have fallen in love—well, sort of. She cleared her head of those notions.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll go in and assess the damage.” He stared into her eyes and waited for her consent.

  “Okay. She nodded, then got up and edged herself on the lounger next to Aunt Tweet. Accidents happen, and she took the blame. Linking her fingers through her aunt’s, Tabitha wanted to convey a gesture of enduring love.

  Marcus returned shortly. “I soaked the pot and turned on a portable fan I saw on the counter.” A chirp alerted him to his phone. Pulling it out of his pants pocket, he read the text and grinned. Was that a dimple she saw? She would verify that before he left for the evening. Her sister Rachel had dimples, and it added to her beauty. On a man, it was sexy.

  “Our food is here. Be back in a sec.”

  Tabitha watched his confident stride until he climbed into his car, then she exhaled. Her good day at work rolled downhill fast. All it took was a cooking disaster. She rubbed her fingers through her hair and sniffed. It smelled like smoke. Although she hadn’t planned to wash her hair tonight, she had to add shampooing to her task in the shower. She dreaded the hair regimen that would take a couple of hours, the conditioning, blow drying, and straightening. If she dared to want curls, shame on her, because that would add on another hour of hair care.

  What she really wanted to do more than eat was climb under the covers and sleep her cares away. That wasn’t going to happen
. If she got five hours of rest tonight, it would be a premium, but under no circumstances was she leaving her aunt’s side. “God, I need help.” She paused, realizing it was the second time within hours she’d sent out an SOS to the Lord.

  Her spirits lifted when Marcus returned with bags and a platter. Her heart fluttered, watching his determined steps and the tender look he cast her way.

  “I hope you’re hungry.” He smiled, releasing all the handsomeness and charm she’d never taken the time to admire before.

  As she studied him, she chided herself on misjudging him the day they met. Making sure Aunt Tweet was safe and fed was evidence of his passion for the elderly. She owed him an apology, but not today.

  He arranged the food on her wrought-iron table, then waited for them to join him. Once they took their seats, Marcus surprised her again as he served them before he sat. There were mini packets of hand wipes. He’d thought of everything.

  “Young man,” Aunt Tweet said, patting the table, “please say grace over our food.”

  Without hesitation, he bowed his head. “Lord, thank You for this meal and for keeping them safe. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Tabitha joined their chorus. She sampled the first bite of chicken and savored the seasoning. “This is good. Where is it from?”

  “Stan’s Sandwiches and Stuff. We use them for catering from time to time.” After a few bites, he grunted. She could see some type of amusement on his face.

  “What?” Tabitha prompted, wanting in on the secret.

  “This is the second time we’re sharing a meal, courtesy of the lovely Aunt Tweet.” Although her aunt blushed, Tabitha wouldn’t consider either scenario as her ideal dinner date. “Come on. Where’s your sense of humor?” He took another bite and chewed, watching and waiting for her to answer.

  “I think it ran away from me,” she admitted, spoiling the mood by voicing her despair.

  Marcus changed the subject. “What type of drugs does Ceyle-Norman manufacture?”

  He remembered her company. It wasn’t a big name, so most people hadn’t heard of it when Pfizer and Mallinckrodt dominated the global market. Tabitha slipped into work mode. “Spironolactone for hyperaldosteronism; Porital for osteoporosis; Nalox for sinusitis; Dyabolin, a supplemental injection for Type 2 diabetes; and Lismetol for hypertension.” She paused after listing two others. “Honestly, I never had a preference on which drugs I sold to doctors, but with Aunt Tweet’s dementia, I’m more driven to know every nuance about the ingredients, research, trials, and studies.”

  He nodded and leaned back, stretching his legs under their small table. “When I see the commercials for a new medicine to treat an ailment, I do a double take. Some of these drugs might cause bleeding, death, infections, hallucinations, and so on. I can’t imagine needing medicine so badly it would be worth the risk.”

  She sipped from a cup of freshly squeezed lemonade and enjoyed the flavor as she swallowed. “It all depends on the severity of the illness that needs treatment. That’s where the doctor comes in to manage the treatment process. My job is to learn as much as I can about the physiology, anatomy, pharmacology, and scientific research on the drugs and convey that to the doctor. I can only learn so much on the job. As a rep—a good one—it takes a lot of homework to know how the drugs interact with other meds, because the wrong combination of ingredients can be deadly. That’s why people should never play doctor when it comes to their health.”

  His eyes sparkled with adoration. “If I were a doctor, I would buy anything you sell.”

  She blushed from his praise, but she was only as good as she prepped herself for, which was what she needed to do, but she was enjoying the respite his company was allowing her.

  “So, Aunt Tweet...” Marcus said, turning to bring her into the conversation, “besides gracing the world with your beauty, what was your career?”

  “I’ll always be an educator...” she began.

  Tabitha knew the story about her aunt’s teaching career, then her many years as a stewardess before returning to academia at Drexel University in Philly. Marcus had no idea her aunt, if given the floor, could talk for hours.

  While he watched Aunt Tweet, she observed him, then suddenly, he turned and caught her staring. She blushed and he smiled, then he tilted his head toward her house before he mouthed go. Taking his cue and nodding her thanks, she excused herself and slipped inside the kitchen. She almost gagged at the lingering burnt odor. How long would it take to dissipate? At least her sisters’ visit was a couple of weeks away, which would give Tabitha time to add deep-cleaning to her to-do list. She sighed.

  Upstairs wasn’t as smelly, but she opened the windows anyway. A cool breeze would help before the official summer season arrived in less than a month. She returned to the kitchen, gathered her laptop and materials, and walked outside to the patio. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Marcus—well, she didn’t.

  Aunt Tweet had Marcus captivated with the history of her West Virginia College. While waiting for her laptop to power up, she observed Marcus. His presence commanded attention. At six-foot-two-or-three, his bulk was powerful and intimidating, yet he patiently listened to her aunt.

  “It’s horrible living in the South. It was downright fearful. Those ugly Jim Crow laws made sure of it. I didn’t see slavery firsthand like Grandma Beulah, but I saw the legacy. Education made us equal and wise like white folks, and they couldn’t stand it. They sabotaged the school in awful ways, yet it survived—we survived.”

  “Is it still in existence?” he asked, seemingly intrigued.

  Tuning them out, Tabitha focused on her project. Besides, she had heard the stories before and could recite them as if she’d lived in her aunt’s dreadful time period.

  “Brains were important back then, but a little beauty helped to open doors. My friends convinced me to enter the state beauty pageant—Miss West Virginia.” She giggled. “Imagine a black woman winning in an all-white beauty pageant in the 1950s.” She hooped and slapped her knee, startling Sweet Pepper who was resting in her lap. “Those white folks had a handbook for that silly pageant. I snuck a peep at it and rule number seven said Negroes weren’t eligible to enter, only the white race, and here I got in and won. Judges couldn’t deny I was the prettiest girl on that stage....” She chuckled again. “Black folks were surprised too. Even my Mama told me she only saw colored ladies on stage as part of a music act as slaves. Yes, I beat them out.”

  Wait a minute. Tabitha slowed, looked over her shoulder and frowned. Never hearing this tale, she didn’t know if the beauty pageant and model thing were fact or fiction. Making up stories could be systematic of dementia symptoms.

  “I won singing ‘The National Anthem.’ I brought tears to everyone in the place, even mine. It was scandalous.” Aunt Tweet snickered, then scratched behind Sweet Pepper’s ears. “My life changed,” she continued to ramble. “I had options, so I left teaching. That year I met Randolph Dittle.”

  She sighed. “Handsome, ump, ump, ump. He called me his songbird. I fell in love with him, but couldn’t stay in the South not after that pageant. I wore that Miss America crown for a whole eight hours until those committee members overruled their decision and snatched my crown off my hair. That was ugly, downright ugly.” She shrugged. “Didn’t matter though. That win—even short-lived—opened a door of opportunities for me. I got offers to model. Where the South didn’t appreciate my dark skin, some parts of the Northeast did, and that’s when my life got better.”

  Her story could be true, but why hadn’t there been any talk of this milestone in the family? This was huge. Half-listening, she turned back to her computer and Googled the history of the pageant. The Miss West Virginia pageants had been held since 1922. Even though there was a list of all the winners, there were no photos. It would take time she didn’t have to pull up each winner’s bio and see if they were black or Colored, as blacks were once called. She found a Desiree Williams in 2013 and 2014, but no mention of a Priscilla Brow
nlee in the 1940s. Fiction.

  “For years, Randolph never gave up on me until I married Butch. He was the package deal—looks, money, job, but that man had baggage, which included boxing. I don’t mean in the ring. After one punch, I divorced him. Coming to my senses, I tried to crawl back to Randolph, but it was too late. He fell in love with someone who loved him back.” She exhaled as if she had unloaded a heavy burden mentally, then motioned to stand. Marcus pushed back his seat to assist her. “I’m tired now. I’m going to bed.”

  Tabitha swallowed. Her heart ached for her aunt. She had lost out on love. Getting to her feet, she gathered Sweet Pepper and kissed Aunt Tweet’s cheek. “Night. I love you.”

  “Night to both my sweeties.”

  They watched as she shuffled through the kitchen, then slowly climbed the stairs in the distance. Tabitha was trying to process what she had heard. Wait until she shared this tidbit with her sisters.

  “You have a fascinating aunt.” Marcus’ deep baritone voice pulled her from her reverie, startling her. She had momentarily forgotten he was there.

  Turning to face him, she recovered. “Ah, she is. Thank you for babysitting”—she made quotation marks with her fingers—“her. Some of the things she said, I never knew.”

  “I would like to visit again, bring dinner, maybe a board game—”

  “Please don’t take this the wrong way,” she cut him off, “I don’t have time for myself much less for entertaining guests.”

  “Who takes care of you, Miss Knicely? While you’re trying to be strong for your aunt, who is your rock. Who has your back?”

  Folding her arms, she squinted. Were they back to being enemies again with that comment? “Listen, I don’t need you questioning...”

  “Let me have your back.” He moved closer.